


The Viking, the Witch, and the Photo (and one very confused shapeshifter)

by srmarybadass



Category: True Blood
Genre: Crack, M/M, author was NOT actually on any substances while writing this, complete and utter crack, so there is no excuse, totally crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmarybadass/pseuds/srmarybadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Godric is resurrected. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and published to LJ in August/September 2009. It was also written before we met any real witches on-screen in True Blood (they showed up season 4).  
> Did I remind you that this is crack?

It all started when an overly cheerful witch walked into Fangtasia one Friday night.

“Welcome to Fangtasia, the bar with a bite,” Pam greeted her, bored out of her mind.

“I'm looking for a Mr. Eric Northman,” the young woman chirped.

Pam raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, but that was the only sign of her surprise that she outwardly showed. “Really, now?”

The young woman nodded.

“And may I ask who you are, that you must speak with my boss?”

“My name is Morgan Maulers,” Morgan Maulers grinned. “I'm a witch.”

Pam's eyes darted around, but they were alone, and nobody heard. She glared at the redhead. “Let me rephrase that. What do you want with my boss?”

“Nothing, I have to help him,” Morgan replied, bouncing on her heels.

Pam had been placed well and truly in a quandary. Should she bring the little human girl to Eric, or should she signal to Chow and have her tossed off the premises, glamoured so hard she would barely remember what year it was? Choices, choices, she thought, but her concern for Eric won out.

“Chow!” she summoned, and the Asian vampire appeared at a superhuman speed, smiling with his fangs out. Morgan was unimpressed. “Watch the door.”

He looked at her for an explanation, but she gave him a look that said later, if you don't piss me off too much, so he just nodded and took his place.

“Come with me,” Pam said, leading Morgan around the side of the building to a door that was all but hidden by a conveniently placed dumpster. She opened it and led the witch through a storage room and into Eric's office.

“Wait here and don't touch anything,” she ordered the girl. Morgan simply nodded, drumming her fingers along the side of her hip. Pam was momentarily distracted, but she strode out the door with all the poise of a queen. She walked quickly through the hallway and into the club, ignoring the fawning gazes of the pathetic humans and the inquisitive ones of the vampires. She didn't stop until she reached the chair where Eric sat, staring off into thin air.

“Eric?” she said quietly, and that was enough to startle him out of his reverie.

“Yes, Pam?” he sighed.

“There's a human in your office waiting to see you,” his child informed him.

“Pam, I told you I am not hungry-” Eric began.

“It's not about that, although you will need to eat eventually,” Pam scolded. “It's...something else.”

The way she emphasized her words had Eric's interest piqued. The only reason Pam wouldn't tell him everything right then and there was because whatever the girl was...she wasn't all human.

“Watch the bar for me,” he ordered, rising from his chair and eliciting several sighs from various dazed onlookers. Pam replaced him and shot every one of the fangbangers a glare that they could write home about.

Eric strode back to his office, wondering what was waiting. He opened the door to see a smiling, freckle-faced redhead, which wasn't particularly unusual. However, the levitating pens swirling around her head in what appeared to be some type of bumper-pens game was.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and the pens immediately fell to the floor.

“Are you Eric Northman?” the girl asked.

Eric nodded.

“My name is Morgan Maulers,” she introduced herself. “I'm a witch, and I'm supposed to help you.”

Not much had surprised Eric in the past four centuries, but this came close. “Oh, really? Help me with what?”

“I know what happened with your maker, in Dallas,” Morgan began, and suddenly Eric was across the room with a supernaturally strong hand wrapped around her throat.

“Nobody knows about that,” he seethed, fangs in full view. Morgan simply raised two fingers, placed them on his forehead, and gave him a rather painful jolt of magic. Eric's hands immediately dropped from her larynx.

“Play nicely,” she warned, letting an edge of steel into her voice. Oh, this was a powerful witch. Eric grinned, trying another tactic.

“I'm hungry, you know,” Eric grinned lazily, adding as much sensuousness into his voice, as well as a hint of glamour. “I haven't fed in a week. Aren't you a little nervous, stuck in a room with a hungry vampire?”

Morgan simply shot him a look that she had apparently learned from Pam. “Nice try. I'm here to help you, not to be dinner.”

Eric sighed, resigning himself to whatever magical do-goodery this girl had in mind. “How did you know about...” Godric, his mind supplied but mouth refused to speak.

“Crystal ball,” Morgan replied, back to grinning.

Eric's eyes widened. He hadn't come across a witch able to use a crystal ball or scrying bowl so accurately since the sixteenth century.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, hiding the twinge of apprehension he felt.

“Well, the ball only told me I had to help you, but I'm not sure how, so I'm just going to let my magic loose and see what happens, all right?” she bubbled.

“I'm not so sure-” he began, but was cut off when she raised her hand and held it rather close to Eric's face. Morgan began muttering something in Latin, which he was once fluent in but hadn't spoken aloud in a few hundred years. Then she started in English, which worried him even more.

“Cleansed in water, purged by fire, scattered by winds and buried in mire,” she intoned, voice hollowly ringing like a bell in an old stone church. Eric didn't need to see the sparks swirling around her fingertips to know what she was doing. She was calling out her magic, and as much as Eric wanted to either run away or rip her throat out- he didn't do well in potentially threatening situations- he knew that if she was interrupted, her magic would probably explode in their faces. Better to just let it run the course. “Cleansed in water, purged by fire, scattered by winds and buried by mire...cleansed by water, purged by fire, scattered by winds and buried in mire-!” she squeaked out the last bit, and suddenly the room was filled with a blinding light and there was a slight fizzling as the electrical circuits burned out. Eric blinked, seeing clearly in the darkness, but appreciative of the candle the witch managed to light.

“Nothing happened,” she frowned. “Aw, fuck.”

He almost smiled at her consternation. “There, there, I certainly appreciate your efforts,” Eric assured her, his mind already on how he was going to get the electrical system up and running.

Then he heard a voice.

“Eric...”

It was a whisper, barely audible, and one that was terrifyingly familiar.

Eric whirled on the witch. “What did you do?” he growled.

Morgan shrugged nervously. “No idea. Here, let me go check the circuit breaker!” she scampered out of the room in the general direction of where the electrical controls for the building were. Twenty-seven seconds and several interesting swears later, and light was restored.

“Eric!”

The voice again, that tiny voice. He knew that voice. How could he not? He had spent the better part of a millennium listening to him...

“Eric, I'm down here!”

The former Viking whirled and honed in his hearing on the thread of sound and followed it to his desk, specifically, the third drawer down on the right.

“Is everything all right?” Pam asked as she entered, dragging a rather confused- but still determinedly smiling- Morgan Maulers behind her. “I heard the lights go out-”

Eric held up a hand for quiet, and silence descended over the office.

“Eric! Please, a little help?”

With great caution, he slowly opened the drawer. On top of a stack of relatively unimportant papers lay the framed photograph of Godric- Isabel had taken it the night of Godric's party, the night the bomb went off, and had sent it to him after Godric had....but that didn't matter.

What mattered was that the boy in the photograph blinked.

Eric gently lifted out the framed piece and stared at the witch, who squirmed under Pam's iron grip. “What did you do?”

“I don't know!” Morgan squeaked.

Eric looked down at the photo.

“My child,” Godric smiled up at him. “How have you been?”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is confusion, a tete a tete, petty power plays, and a little bit of higher purpose.

If Eric were human, he was quite sure he would be going into shock right about now. Morgan’s jaw was somewhere around her knees, and even Pam looked mildly surprised, and nothing fazed Pam. _Ever._

 

Eric whirled to face the witch, clutching the photograph. “What did you _do_?” he all but roared.

 

“I don’t know!” Morgan yelled back. “My magic just did its thing!”

 

“Perhaps she tried to resurrect Godric but was unable to fully do so?” Pam suggested carefully. Both Eric and Morgan quieted and chewed on that for a moment.

 

“That sounds about right,” the talking photograph commented. The three occupants of the office stared down at Godric, who was very....one-dimensional, but definitely moving.

 

“It looks sort of like my iPhone screen,” Pam commented. “About the right size, too.”

 

“Who am I?” Eric asked the photo, distrusting it.

 

“You’re Eric, my child,” Godric told him. “Have you lost your mind?”

 

“What is my blood preference?”

 

“Supernaturals. Now, Eric-”

 

“What was the combination to your office safe?”

 

“83-29-42-6. Do you-”

 

“Who rescued us from the Spanish Inquistion?”

 

“Regina Leon, she-”

 

“When did you turn me?”

 

“The night after a battle more than a thousand years ago, somewhere in Denmark, Eric, I don’t see-”

 

“Who caused your death?”

 

“I did.”

 

Eric swallowed, hard. “Well, he- this seems to be Godric.” He awkwardly propped the photo up so that Godric could view Pam and Morgan.

 

“Pam, how are you?” Godric smiled.

 

“I am well, thank you,” Pam replied carefully. The correct response would then be to inquire after his health, but seeing as how he wasn’t exactly a person at the moment...

 

“Excellent. And who are you?” Godric pointed to Morgan, who, to her everlasting credit, collected herself rather quickly.

 

“Morgan Maulers,” she informed him. “I think I’m the reason you’re, uh. Talking.”

 

“I was a little curious about that,” Godric admitted.

 

“Do you remember anything before you were...” Eric began.

 

“In your desk drawer?” Godric finished. “Slightly. It feels like a dream, now. I was happy. And warm. But that is the extent of my recall.”

 

The two vampires, one witch, and one very lifelike photograph stood around for a solid two minutes, avoiding eye contact with each other. Then, something unexpected happened- even more unexpected than a photograph coming to life.

 

Morgan started giggling.

 

Both vampires glared at her, but she didn’t stop- rather, she actually began bouncing up and down while clapping her hands together lightly.

 

“I can’t believe I did that!” she squealed in delight. Then she started doing some sort of dance move that involved repetitive pelvic thrusting, while chanting something that sounded suspiciously like “who’s a good witch? Who’s a good witch?”

 

“Well then,” Pam began after Morgan finished. “We should, ah, go check on what’s happening in the bar.” Eric nodded, and Pam dragged the witch out of the office in a rather unceremonious fashion.

 

Eric’s legs essentially gave out and he found himself sitting heavily down on his office chair, which squeaked in protest, and for one horrible second Eric thought the chair had come to life as well, until he realized that it was only the rusty wheels. He set the framed photograph in front of him, and stared at his maker.

 

“So...” he began, unsure of himself because in the thousand years he had been alive, he had never been in a situation quite like this one.

 

“What happened on your end?” Godric asked.

 

  
“A witch showed up, claimed she was supposed to help me, and then blew out my electrical circuits with magic. After the lights came back on, you started talking from inside my desk drawer. And you?”

 

“I don’t really remember much,” Godric admitted. “I remember my life- well, you know- just fine, up until I burned-” here Eric winced- “but then...it feels like I fell asleep, and then I woke up in your desk drawer.”

 

“The burning...what was it like?” Eric asked quietly.

 

Godric shrugged. “A little anticlimactic for something that was two thousand years in coming. It hurt, but not badly- not like silver- and then it was just over. And I was...somewhere else.”

 

“And now you're back here,” Eric commented. “All that and you still end up in the same place. Good ol' earth.”

 

Godric smiled widely. “Yes, but at least I am experiencing it differently. I've been a human, I've been a vampire, but I have never been a talking photograph.”

 

“I don't think _anyone_ has been a talking photograph,” Eric muttered. “I don't suppose you can get out of your frame?”

 

“Let me try,” Godric said, moving to the left and pushing futilely against the side of the portrait. “Nope. That's not working.” He moved to the right side, and slipped out.

 

“Godric!” Eric yelped in a very un-vampiric manner.

 

“I'm over here!” Godric's voice came. Eric whirled, and Godric was sitting in the Fangtasia promotion photo that was at the end of Eric's desk. The photo, which contained Pam in a particularly skimpy outfit, was apparently responding to Godric, as the photo-Pam poked photo-Godric in the arm and told him to get out of her frame, as he was ruining her light.

 

“Get back into your frame,” Eric ordered. “I can't have you wandering around all the time. It would be best if you stayed in one place until we have this figured out.”

 

“It's really very sweet, the way you look after me,” Godric commented as he slid back into the chair that was in his original photograph. The chair had also been blown up that awful night, along with most of Godric's house.

 

“I didn't like the house very much anyways,” Godric informed him, and Eric worried for a moment that the witch had managed to somehow give him _psychic powers_ , before remembering that Godric had always been able to sense what he was thinking. “It was too big. I only bought it because I wanted a house larger than Stan's.”

 

“Why Godric, I was unaware you were into petty power plays,” Eric drawled.

 

“Because you giving that human your blood to show up her boyfriend wasn't a power play at all?” Godric asked innocently.

 

Eric flipped the photograph face down.

 

“Let me up!” Godric shrieked, muffled by the desktop. “This only proves my point about petty power plays!”

 

Eric grinned and brought the frame upright.

 

“Who's in charge now?” he taunted cheerfully.

 

“Eric, dear, you know as well as I do that I am always the one in charge, even if I am currently two-dimensional,” Godric told him.

 

Eric sighed. Unfortunately, it was true.

 

“Eric,” Godric said quietly, and his tone was serious. Eric listened. “I'm old, and I've seen a lot of ghosts in my time.”

 

Eric raised an eyebrow. His maker didn't usually go off on tangents without having a point.

 

“They always came back from the dead, sort of, because they had a purpose,” Godric explained. “And then when accomplished what they had come back to do, they went away again.”

 

“Godric, we don't need you to shuffle off the mortal coil twice in as many weeks,” Eric groaned.

 

“Two weeks? Has it been two weeks?”

 

Eric nodded.

 

“What have you been getting up to for two weeks?”

 

“Not much,” Eric admitted, trying to disguise the fact that really, he hadn't done _anything_ except chug True Bloods when Pam forced him. “I....missed you.”

 

“And I missed you, Eric,” Godric told him softly. “But you cannot make me your entire world. There is so much more to live for.”

 

“Oh, and that's why you met the sun?” Eric barked bitterly.

 

“I ran out of things to live for,” Godric explained. “But you still have so much.”

 

The vampire and the former vampire stared at each other for a moment before a light clicked on behind Godric's eyes.

 

“I think I know what I'm supposed to do,” he said slowly.

 

“Do? You don't have a purpose, you're not a ghost, you just came back from the dead because a hyperactive witch blew up a magic bomb in my office,” Eric moaned.

 

“But I do,” Godric said. “I think- I _know_ I need to help you find a person to care about. Someone...someone special.”

 

“You sound like a bad dating website,” Eric told him. “Besides, nobody but you and Pam can put up with me for long periods of time.”

 

“We will find someone,” Godric assured him.

 

Eric almost replied, but then his ears perked up as he heard footsteps. “Someone's coming. Act like a photograph.”

 

Then Sam Merlotte walked through the door.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam needs help, Godric freezes, Eric gets a lapful, and Pam is sensible.

“Mr. Merlotte,” Eric greeted, covering his surprise with his businessman persona. “What brings you to my establishment this evening?”

 

“I've come to ask for help,” Sam replied, head down.

 

“Again? So soon after the maenad incident?” Eric grinned. Oh, how he loved stockpiling favors...

 

“I’ve been cursed,” Sam said bluntly as Pam and Morgan walked in.

 

“Cursed? Who’s been cursed? I can help!” Morgan bubbled. Pam glared. Godric remained perfectly still.

 

“Uh...” Sam started eloquently.

 

“I’m Morgan!” she chirped, grabbing Sam’s hand and shaking with vigor. “You must be Sam!”

 

“I am,” he nodded.

 

“Explain,” Eric ordered tersely.

 

“This woman- I guess she was a witch, but I didn’t know that at the time. She came into my bar and, y’know, started drinking, and she got a few too many in her, so I cut her off and offered to call someone to give her a ride”- the bartender in Eric approved of this- “but then I guess she didn’t really like that idea, because the next thing I know she’s chanting some weird shit, there’s a bright light, and I have a weird-ass marking on my shoulder.”

 

Everyone stared at Sam for a moment.

 

“Let me see the mark,” Morgan requested.

 

“Ahh...I’m not so sure-”

 

“Oh, shut it. I’m a witch. Now let me look.”

 

Reluctantly, Sam unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and slid it off, revealing a very muscular left shoulder, which, true to his word, had a marking on it that Eric didn’t recognize. However, if he was being completely honest with himself, he wasn’t too focused on the mark at the moment. Pam subtly nudged him and looked over at the desk.

 

Godric was straining at the edges of his frame, trying to get a better look.

 

Pam rolled her eyes. Obviously, the boys were too testosterone-driven to function properly. Fortunately, she had been gifted with sense. “What exactly is this curse doing? Has your wang fallen off?”

 

Sam turned an interesting shade of fuschia and Morgan giggled. Eric didn’t do anything.

 

“Well, no,” Sam awkwardly replied. “See, I keep-”

 

Sam vanished.

 

 _“Fucking hell!_ ” Morgan shrieked. Eric blinked twice in rapid succession. Pam sighed and reached down into the now-empty pile of clothes, withdrawing a small, extremely fluffy hamster.

 

“Is that _Sam?_ ” Eric asked, holding out his palm. Pam gratefully deposited the rodent into her master’s hands. _Stupid little chittering poop machines,_ she thought savagely.

 

“Let me see!” Godric ordered, trying to angle himself, which was incredibly difficult, as he was two-dimensional.

 

Dutifully, Eric placed the hamster in front of the photograph. The hamster- _Sam_ , Eric reminded himself- chattered his teeth and attempted to bite Eric. Not particularly wanting to witness the effects of vampire blood in hamsters, Eric evaded the maneuver.

 

“Did you get a look at the mark?” Eric asked Morgan as he picked up Sam by the tail.

 

“Yeah, although I’ll need to examine it again, and find out who did it,” the witch said.

 

“Can you turn him back?” Godric asked.

 

“I can try,” Morgan offered, before putting out her hand and muttering something. Suddenly, in a flash of light, Sam Merlotte was back, buck-naked, and strewn across Eric’s lap.

 

Everyone in the room froze for a very awkward moment before Sam promptly shrank into a cat and hid in the corner.

 

“I’ll take care of him,” Morgan said, picking up the cat and snuggling it a little. “Can you give me an empty room?”

 

“Next door,” Eric muttered, and Morgan cheerfully exited the room, Sam’s clothing floating along behind her. She magically unlocked the door to the next room, which turned out to be a rather large closet, and set the cat down before repeating the incantation that popped Sam back into his human form.

 

“Put your pants on,” she yelped, turning away. Sam, too surprised to protest, did so, before standing to face the witch.

 

“What...?” he began.

 

“Let me see the curse-mark,” Morgan ordered. Sam, still shirtless, turned, and the witch examined it.

 

“I see- just as I thought,” she muttered. “Can you tell me what the woman looked like, that did that to you?”

 

“She was middle-aged, but still kind of pretty,” Sam began. “Uh...brown hair, green eyes...wore a scarf?”

 

A light of comprehension went on behind Morgan’s eyes.

 

“Do you know who she is?” Sam asked. “More importantly, what the _hell_ is wrong with me?”

 

“Yeah, that’s why I took you in here,” Morgan began. “Look, the curse, as you may have figured out on your own, sort of makes you shift spontaneously.”

 

Sam nodded.

 

“Except it isn’t spontaneous,” Morgan sighed. “She cursed you so that you shift whenever you get...uh...turned on.” She shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.

 

“I was _not_ turned on!” Sam protested.

 

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Look, I took you in here so that I wouldn’t have to awkwardly explain that aspect in front of Mr. Undead Viking Hunk, so let’s go back in there now and discuss.” She barged out of the closet, and Sam meekly followed, struggling with his shirt buttons.

 

“I know who did it,” Morgan announced to the two vampires and also to Godric, who promptly froze in his frame before awkwardly and slowly sliding back into his seat.

 

“Do tell,” Pam drawled.

 

“Her name is Olivia Wilkinson,” Morgan explained. “She’s the leader of the coven up in Gardiner-”

 

“Do you belong to that coven?” Eric interrupted harshly.

 

“I used to, before they started doing...stuff I wasn’t interested in,” Morgan mumbled.

 

Eric quirked an eyebrow.

 

“They were into V,” Morgan confessed. “But I swear, I never did _any_ , and when _they_ started trying it, I left-”

 

“How powerful is she?” Pam stopped her rant.

 

“Pretty darn,” Morgan replied. “And if she _has_ been doing V, that’ll just jack up her power even more.”

 

“How do we remove the curse?” Sam asked. “And am I in any danger?”

 

“Probably not, unless you suddenly turn into, like, an elephant in the middle of the supermarket line,” Morgan informed him. “But I think that only Olivia can break the curse, since she put it there in the first place. I can do some research and try to help, but I might end up blowing you to bits. And not in a good way.” She nodded.

 

Sam blanched. “Uh. Well. Er.”

 

“Mr. Merlotte, Ms. Maulers, you will both come to stay at my residence until we have all this shit figured out,” Eric told them in a gratingly authoriatative tone of voice. “It will not do for Sam to expose the two-natured to the entire world with an ill-timed shift, and seeing as Morgan is our only witch at the moment, it would be best if she stayed close with us. Besides, we may need you to humanize Sam at any given time.” He exchanged a glance with Pam, who nodded her consent.

 

Sam shuffled awkwardly. “All right.” It wasn’t like he had a _choice._

 

“Very well,” Eric nodded, rising to his full height. “We will leave now. Dawn is in a few hours.” He subtly slipped Godric’s photo into his jacket pocket and strode out, with a vampire, a shifter, and a witch in his wake. However, when they reached the parking lot, they ran into a bit of a problem.

 

“My car only has room for one more,” Eric pointed out, staring down at the sleek black convertible.

 

“I’ll take the witch,” Pam volunteered, steering Morgan towards her very impractical Ferrarri.

 

Eric looked at Sam.

 

Sam looked at Eric.

 

Eric opened the door for Sam.

 

“Thank you,” Sam said.

 

“No problem,” Eric replied, gunning the engine for what proved to be a very short, very awkard car ride to a large house on a quiet residential street. They arrived right before Pam, although the men’s supernatural senses were able to hear Morgan’s joyful whooping a mile away. Apparently, she was fond of fast cars.

 

“Come on in,” Eric invited, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t escorting a vampire. Sam stepped in, looking around at the luxurious interior that the relatively modest outside belied. “Pam decorated.”

 

“I see,” Sam mumbled.

 

“If you go up the stairs, you will find a bedroom to your left. It should contain everything you need. The same goes for you, Morgan, except yours is on the right,” Eric informed his guests. “Pam, we need to talk.”

 

Pam nodded and shooed Morgan up the stairs before following Eric into his study, where her master pulled out the photo of Godric from inside his pocket.

 

“Finally!” Godric sighed. “No offense, Eric, but as much as I love your body, it was getting a little stuffy in there.”

 

“I’m sure Sam wouldn’t have minded,” Pam prodded.

 

Eric glared at her.

 

“What?” she asked. “You heard them talking as well as I did. He’s _definitely_ interested.”

 

“But I am not,” Eric protested.

 

“I think he’s perfect for you,” Godric suggested. “He’s supernatural, so he’s tasty. I bet he’s strong of temperament, so you won’t be able to simply walk all over him. And, of course, he’s absolutely gorgeous.”

 

Eric stared at him in horror.

“What?” Godric shrugged. “The man was naked and practically on top of me. If I had a body, there’s no telling what would have happened. Your desk probably would have been broken.”

 

“It nearly broke anyway,” Pam commented. “And he _did_ land in your lap, Eric. You obviously got a look at the goods.”

 

“I will accede that Sam Merlotte is rather good-looking for a shapeshifter,” Eric said cautiously. “However, I am not currently looking for a mate, and if I need sex, I have an open bar at Fangtasia. A shifter is neither necessary nor wanted. And now, I will shower. Pam, before you go to bed, please make sure that our guests are well taken care of.” Pam nodded, and her master strode off.

 

Pam immediately turned to Godric.

 

“Something must be done,” they said at the same time.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a thousand-year-old former Viking attempts to woo a cursed shapeshifter.

Sam turned into a rabbit at the breakfast table.

 

It wasn’t his fault, of course. He blamed it solely on Pam, who wandered into the kitchen wearing little more than a few scraps of silk and lace, because it _certainly_ couldn’t have been Eric, with his incredibly tacky black bathrobe.

 

Fortunately, he only had to remain a rabbit for five minutes, because Eric summoned Morgan, who managed to fix the problem again, and soon the four were awkwardly sitting around the table eating- or nursing True Bloods.

 

“I called Lafayette, and he’s going to open the bar for me, but I need to go back tonight,” Sam told everyone.

 

“You can’t go alone,” Morgan said. “What if you shift in front of everyone? I’ll go with you.”

 

“Are you even old enough to go into bars?” Pam asked.

 

“Of course I am! I’m twenty-two!” the witch yelped indignantly.

 

“Perhaps I should go with you, to supervise,” Eric suggested.

 

“No!” yelped Morgan.

 

“Not necessary!” added Sam. “I mean, uh, no offense, but a vampire in my bar might...ah...scare off the customers. Not to mention Lafayette, and we need a good cook on Saturday nights.”

 

“I understand,” Eric nodded. “I will drive you to Fangtasia so that you may pick up your car, Sam. Morgan, is your car parked there?”

 

“Oh, I didn’t drive to Fangstasia,” Morgan informed them.

 

Eric decided it would be best not to inquire. “Are you both ready to leave, then?”

 

The witch and the bartender nodded.

 

“Wait, you can’t leave,” Pam broke in. “Sam, are you _honestly_ wearing that to _tend bar?”_

 

Sam looked down at his comfortable plaid shirt. “Is there something wrong with it?”

 

Pam snorted. “Is there anything _right_ with it?”

 

“ _Pam_ ,” Eric warned. Pam sighed and rolled her eyes.

 

“Hold on a moment,” she ordered. “I will get you something more...suitable.” In a flash, she was up the stairs.

 

“You don’t need to wear what she gives you,” Eric told Sam.

 

“I heard that!” Pam scolded as she entered the kitchen. “Here. Put this on, and I can let you go in all good conscience.”

 

Eric snorted, knowing exactly what Pam’s “conscience” consisted of, but watched in interest as Sam, intimidated by Pam’s infamous glare, slid out of his flannel shirt and put on the simple, sleek black one that happened to be one of Eric’s favorites, although it had shrunk in the wash, and now he couldn’t wear it anymore. He glanced at Pam and glared. She smirked.

 

“ _Now_ can I go run my bar?” Sam asked, exasperated. It was still relatively early in the evening, but it was Saturday night, and the Merlotte’s regulars would be wondering where he was...

 

“Yes, you may go now,” Pam allowed.

 

“Eric, how are we going to fit in your car?” Sam asked once they got outside. Eric thought about it for a moment.

 

“Well, we could put Morgan in the trunk, or you can shift into something that can fit on her lap,” Eric decided.

 

Morgan glared.

 

Sam sighed.

 

 

Pam waited until she heard the car pull away before bolting to Eric’s study, where Godric had been left.

 

“Godric?” she called as she peered at the empty frame.

 

“Hello, Pam!” Godric replied as he tumbled in from the edge of the frame, wearing what appeared to be a straw hat and a hula skirt.

 

Pam raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. She had seen stranger. “I suspect you know why I’m here.”

 

“The Eric thing,” Godric replied solemnly.

 

“The Eric _and Sam_ thing,” Pam corrected. “We have to get them together. Eric is going to start slaughtering fangbangers if we don’t get him laid, and few humans have the strength to withstand his sexual preferences.”

 

“Believe me, I know,” Godric sighed. “He is stubborn, though.”

 

“I suppose he learned that from you.”

 

Godric chuckled.

 

“Well, at the speeds he drives, he could be back at any moment. Go put that hat back where you found it,” Pam ordered. “Speaking of which, where _did_ you find it?”

 

“It’s probably best you didn’t know,” Godric soothed, before slipping out the side of the frame. He returned a few minutes later just as Eric barged in.

 

“He smells _good,_ ” was his growled greeting as he collapsed into the chair.

 

“I personally prefer the witch,” Pam remarked. “What has you so riled up?”

 

Eric growled again.

 

“You must do something,” Godric said from his frame. “Why don’t you woo him?”

 

“Woo him? _Woo_ him? I am a thousand years old! I do not _woo!_ ” Eric said indignantly. “Besides, I don’t even remember the last person I ‘wooed.’”

 

“It was me,” Pam informed him.

 

“Was it?” Eric questioned. “Has it really been that long?”

 

Pam nodded. “I occupied your attentions for long enough that wooing went out of fashion. I think it was around the sixties.”

 

Eric smiled and tilted his head back, remembering that crazy decade. “Ah, the sixties. They were fun.” He brought himself back to the present. “I don’t think I even remember how to... _woo.”_

 

Pam heaved a sigh of epic proportions. “Must I do _everything_ for you?”

 

Eric gave her a look like he was a lonely puppy abandoned and all alone in the world.

 

“Fine,” Pam muttered, pulling out her phone and dialing a contact. “You’ll do as I say, and I will get you started.” The phone rang, and the woman on the other end picked up.

 

 _“Hello?”_

 

“Hi, Sookie, this is Pam.”

 

 _“Uh...hi, Pam! Is something happening? And have you seen Sam?”_

 

“I’m actually calling about Sam-”

 

 _“Oh, gosh! Is he all right?”_

 

“I need to know his favorite drink.”

 

There was a pause on the line.

 

 _“Drink? Like, alcoholic drink?”_

 

“Exactly.”

 

“ _He’s always been real fond of Scotch, I guess.”_

 

“Thank you.”

 

 _“Anything else? And do you know where he is?”_

 

“There will be nothing else, and he is about forty-five minutes from your bar.”

 

 _“Thank you, Pam.”_

 

Pam hung up.

 

“What was that about?” Eric asked.

 

“You will go either to Fangtasia or to a store and purchase the best, most expensive bottle of Scotch you can find. Don’t frown, you can afford it. Then, you will dress in something particularly delectable- I recommend a leather jacket- and deliver it to him at his bar in three hours time, in front of what will probably be half the population of Bon Temps,” Pam ordered.

 

Eric nodded. He had learned long ago that Pam was always right. “And then?”

 

“And then you get off your ass and work for the boy yourself,” Pam said scythingly. “Honestly, Eric, you’re over a thousand years old. This is embarrassing.”

 

“I knew there was a reason I turned you, Pam,” Eric smiled, before striding purposefully out of his office.

 

“I wish there was something I could do to help my child,” Godric said rather sadly.

 

“There is,” Pam said. “When he goes to Merlotte’s, see if you can slip into a photograph there and keep an eye on things. You may need to alert me if the locals get stake-happy.”

 

“Will do,” Godric said. “But until then, do you think you can put me in front of a television? It’s sort of boring, staring at the walls.”

 

“Sure,” Pam said, picking up the frame. “In fact, I was just about to go watch a show myself. Apparently, it’s a retelling of Arthurian legends, but with delectable young men.”

 

“Point me in the right direction,” Godric giggled.

 

 

Obviously, a merciful deity was on duty that night, because when Eric Northman walked into Merlotte’s wearing a leather jacket and jeans that hung scandalously low on his hipbones, Morgan saw him first. She didn’t need to use her powers as a seer to know what would probably happen next, so she did the only thing she could- ducked behind the bar, closed her eyes, and started muttering a spell very vigorously.

 

The bar quieted the moment Eric strode in, and all eyes riveted to the vampire. Eric grinned lazily and put a little swagger in his hips as he meandered towards the bar, where Sam stood, a forgotten dishtowel clutched in his hand as he stared.

 

“Welcome to Merlotte’s, how may I help you?” he asked carefully when Eric reached the bar. The vampire smiled, very carefully keeping his fangs in, and slid a bottle out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

 

“I bring a gift,” he announced. “From an....admirer.” He could hear every single female in the bar sigh, as well as some of the men. He could also hear a strange sound coming from underneath the viewline of the bar, and smiled some more. How nice, Morgan was keeping Sam in his human form.

 

Sam gingerly took the bottle, examined it, and gaped.

 

“Thank you,” he said slowly, looking up- and up- at Eric.

 

“You are most welcome,” Eric replied.

 

There was an awkward moment of silence as the patrons of Merlotte’s waited with baited breath to see what would happen next.

 

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Sam offered. “Can I get you a True Blood?”

 

“For now,” the vampire replied.

 

Sam walked to the freezer to fetch a bottle of True Blood. _Maybe the curse has worn off_ , he thought to himself. After all, he was turned on and still human. Smiling, he strode back to the bar.

 

“Sam!” he heard a gasping voice. He whirled around to see a Morgan crouched beneath the bar.

 

“What are you doing down there?” he whispered.

 

“Keeping you from turning into a fucking _deer_ , dumbass!” she hissed. “Get out of the bar. Get out _now_ , I don’t know how much longer I can hold the spell!”

 

 _Aw, shit,_ Sam nodded. “All right. Tara!” he straightened up and called to his assistant bartender. “Watch the bar, I need to go.”

 

“Okay then,” Tara agreed. “Oh, and Sam? There’s a crazy white chick muttering near the whiskey shelf. You want me to escort her from the premises?”

 

“Oh no, leave her where she is,” Sam said emphatically. “Uh...Eric?”

 

Eric looked up at him.

 

“Will you, uh, come with me?” Sam asked. Awkward, yes, but if he shifted, he trusted Eric to take him home.

 

“Yes, Sam, I will _come_ with you,” Eric winked, and Sam gulped. Morgan sped up her chanting, screwing her eyes shut and trying to keep Sam human. Honestly, the man had the self-control of a particularly hyperactive squirrel.

 

Eric followed Sam out the back of Merlotte’s and over to an unlit area. Sam turned to face Eric and found himself face-to-collarbone with a six-foot-six vampire.

 

He gulped.

 

“I know about the curse,” Eric said smoothly. “Tell me, are you not turned on right now? Because really, I find that a little offensive. After all, every single human in the bar was slobbering over me.”

 

“No, that’s not it-” Sam began, before Eric leaned down and pinned Sam to the wall. Suddenly, Sam found himself surrounded by a whole lot of Eric and nowhere to run.

 

“I can smell you, you know,” Eric purred. “You can’t hide from me...” Eric leaned down and was less than an inch away from a very eager Sam when, suddenly, Eric found himself staring at a blank wall. Looking down, he saw a panting collie at his feet.

 

“Well, fuck,” Eric sighed.

 

There were footsteps, and an exhausted-looking Morgan appeared. “I’m so sorry!” she yelped. “Did anyone see? I tried to keep the spell up as long as I could, but I guess he was _really_ turned on, and- uh. Hi, Eric.”

 

Eric raised his eyebrows.

 

Morgan grinned nervously.

 

“What do we need to do to remove the curse?” Eric inquired.

 

“We have to get Olivia Wilkinson to remove it,” Morgan replied.

 

“Then that is what we will do,” Eric decided. “But first, we must get our puppy home. Can you change him back?”

 

Morgan squeezed her eyes shut and focused, but unfortunately, nothing happened.

 

“I’m sorry,” she panted. “I’m too tired. I need to rest before performing more magic.”

 

Eric nodded. “Very well, then. I will tell the bartender to take over Sam’s duties, and then I will drive us home. Here, take Sam and put him in the car.” Eric nudged the dog over to Morgan, who patted its head vigorously.

 

As he watched them walk out of the darkness and into the parking lot, Eric couldn’t help but think to himself- although he would never confess it aloud- that Sam as a puppy was actually very cute.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam disappears, Eric blows a gasket, Godric is useful, and Pam is the only sensible one.

When Sam woke up the next morning, he was naked.

 

Unfortunately, he was also alone in his bed, which meant that, rather than a night of debauchery and sexcapades, he had passed out in dog form. Standing, he shivered in the cool air- vampires obviously had no need for climate control- and dressed quickly.

 

He found Morgan in one of the multiple dens, watching what appeared to be an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

 

“Morning!” she said far too cheerfully. “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Frustrated,” Sam muttered honestly. “I’m going home- I need to get some stuff from my trailer and check up on the bar. I can’t just keep leaving it in Lafayette’s hands.”

 

Morgan nodded, attention reverted to the screen. “I’ll tell Eric where you’ve gone if you’re not back by then.”

 

“Thank you,” Sam waved, before walking out the door and hopping into his car.

 

Fortunately, there was relatively little traffic on the road back to Bon Temps, and he was able to keep his mind off Eric- at least, enough so that he didn’t cause a major traffic accident by turning into something physically unable to drive. Happily, he rolled down the windows and let the wind blow through his hair. He’d always liked car rides- a residual dog instinct, he supposed. In under an hour, he was back home and all the better for it.

 

He unlocked the door and stepped in the entranceway, but froze. He sniffed. Something wasn’t quite right here. There was a scent he couldn’t quite place- but definitely an unfamiliar one. His ears perked as he heard footsteps from within the darkness. He whirled, but something hit him- _hard_ \- over the head.

 

Then everything went black.

 

 

When Eric awoke just after sunset, he could hear someone crying downstairs.

 

 _Pam_!, he summoned mentally before springing out of bed and flashing out his door, down the staircase, and up the hall only to find Morgan sitting at the kitchen table, evidently weeping into her hands.

 

“Morgan!” Eric almost shouted, a little nervous- a vampire such as himself did not get _scared_ \- at the possibilities that could so rattle such a cheerful girl.

 

“I’m sorry, Eric-” she sobbed. “I was going- to wake you-”

 

Pam swooped into the kitchen and was at Morgan’s side in an instant. “What is it, Morgan? What’s happened?”

 

Eric swept his eyes over the table. The witch was sitting in front of a mirror, a bowl of water, an ornate knife, and a cell phone. Scrying tools. A sense of dread settled over Eric.

 

“Sam’s gone,” Morgan tearfully told them. “He left this morning- said he was going home- but he’s not _back_ , and I think the coven _has_ him, and- and-”

 

“Hush,” Pam said, giving Morgan a shot of glamour. The effect was instantaneous- the young woman calmed instantly. “Now, tell me what has transpired.”

 

“Sam left this morning,” Morgan explained. “Then, a couple hours later, I got an e-mail from the coven.” She held up her cell phone, which was very sleek-looking.

 

“They sent an e-mail to _you?_ ” Eric raised an eyebrow. “You informed us you had quit.”

 

“I’m still on their mailing list,” Morgan confessed.

 

“What did the e-mail say, Morgan?” Pam prompted.

 

Morgan dutifully held out the phone. On the screen, from a certain ‘wilkinson1@witch.com’, was the message: _“Hope you are all ready for tonight- we'll be having quite the treat!”_

 

Eric clenched his fists. Pam let Morgan out of the glamour, assuming she was calm enough to converse coherently.

 

“Where are they?” Eric asked, biting off each word.

 

Morgan shrugged. “I don’t know. They go to a different place each time they have a ceremony.”

 

“That’s why they have Sam? A ceremony?” Eric barked. “A _ceremony?”_

 

Without further ado, he yanked the microwave from its stand and threw it through the wall.

 

“Calm yourself, Eric,” Pam ordered.

 

“Calm myself? I will _certainly_ not _calm myself_ -” Eric began, voice rising, but was cut off by a cry from above the sink.

“Eric! What on earth is going on here?” Godric yelped from his position inside one of the ‘artistic’ photos of flowers and trees that Pam had insisted on placing all around the house.

 

“He’s gone, Godric,” Eric said. “The _fucking witches_ took him.”

 

“Eric, you stop right now,” Pam warned before Eric even moved towards the door. “Don’t think you can just go rushing off into the wild blue yonder. We need to know exactly where he is and who has him.”

 

“I couldn’t find him with magic,” Morgan sniffled. “I tried all the methods, but...nothing. And if I can’t find him, I don’t know how-”

 

She was interrupted by a particularly fierce growl from Eric.

 

“Hold on, everyone,” Godric said quietly. “I have an idea.”

 

 

When Sam came to, he was sitting in what appeared to be an office, tied to a simple wooden chair. His first instinct was to shift into either something small, thus allowing him to escape, or something large and dangerous, which would allow him to escape _and_ kick some serious ass while he did it.

 

However, when he tried, a bolt of pain shot through his skull and left him gasping.

 

“Fuck,” he whispered. He knew what this was. Something magical- a spell- was preventing him from shifting. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. _Shit.”_

 

Sam breathed slowly and deeply, trying to quell the rising wave of animal panic he felt at being trapped. The ropes wouldn’t move- obviously magically reinforced. He was screwed, he was so screwed, and he was going to die before he even got a chance to kiss Eric-

 

Sam cut himself off of that train of thought and looked around. _Stop_ , he thought. _Stop, think, observe, plan_. He was suddenly extremely grateful for all the military techniques Terry had lectured him about during all those empty afternoon shifts at Merlotte’s.

 

He was in an office. There was a desk across the room, some bookshelves, a fax machine, and a couple of photos on the desk, most of which contained the woman he knew had to be Olivia Wilkinson- it was the same woman who had cursed him at the bar.

 

 _Bitch likes her tacky scarves,_ Sam thought to himself before movement caught his eye. Movement in the _photograph_.

 

An image of a young, pale man burst in through the edge of the frame.

 

“Hey!” the current occupant of the photo yelped.

 

“Move, please,” the boy replied, punching the image of Olivia Wilkinson hard enough to knock her out.

 

“What the _fuck_?” Sam yelped. “Who the- why- how-”

 

“Calm yourself, Sam Merlotte,” the photograph told him imperiously. “My name is Godric. I was Eric’s maker.”

 

“You’re a fucking photograph!”

 

“I’m not,” Godric shook his head. “Well, technically, I suppose I am...it’s complicated,” he finished rather lamely. “Anyway, I came to find out where you are, because Eric is worried _sick_ about you.”

 

Sam closed his eyes and thought. Then, he scooted his chair over to the window and looked out. “I can see a strip club,” he said awkwardly.

 

Godric nodded. “I will go tell Eric. Try not to get yourself offered to the gods in the meantime.”

 

“Hey- wait!” Sam cried, but it was too late, and Godric was gone.

 

 

“I found him!” Godric announced upon entering his own photograph once more. “He’s in an office at the moment, magically tied up and unable to shift. He says he can see a strip club from the window.”

 

Eric snarled. “There’s only one strip club left in Shreveport. I know where he is.”

 

“Fangstasia put the others out of business,” Pam proudly informed Morgan.

 

Morgan nodded.

 

“I’m going to get him,” Eric announced.

 

Pam and Morgan both stood.

 

“You can’t come,” Eric blinked. “It might be dangerous.”

 

Pam and Morgan laughed for a solid minute and a half.

 

“Eric, I can uproot trees with my mind,” Morgan informed him. “Besides, these are witches. You’ll need someone who knows how to use magic.”

 

“Very well then,” Eric nodded.

 

“What about me?” Godric asked.

 

“Godric, you’re a photograph,” Eric replied. “You can’t really _do_ anything, and I don’t particularly want to find out what would happen if your photo got torn in half.”

 

“So I just have to sit and wait?” Godric pouted.

 

“Just like a princess in a tower,” Eric nodded. “Pam, Morgan. Let’s go.”

 

The two vampires and one witch crammed themselves into Eric’s convertible. Morgan settled herself on Pam’s lap for the duration of the drive, during which Eric broke nearly every traffic law known to mankind, and only through Morgan’s magic avoided committing seventeen separate homicides.

 

“Why are they in an office building?” Pam sneered, wrinkling her nose at the structure that had obviously been built in the seventies. _Dark age of archietecture,_ she thought to herself.

 

“Inconspicuous,” Morgan replied. “Nobody thinks that witchcraft is going on in cubicle hell.”

 

Eric was out of the car and breaking down the door in a flash, and Pam could only drag Morgan along behind. Once in, they ran up the stairs, Eric blinding following the scent of _human animal human animal Sam_ \- until coming to a halt on the third floor. With a single, powerful kick, he was able to displace the door.

 

“Eric!” Sam cried from his tethered position. “No! You have to leave! You shouldn’t have-”

 

But he was cut off by a voice coming from behind Sam’s would-be rescuers.

 

“Here is our treat, as promised,” Olivia Wilkinson cackled. “And dessert as well- ooh, look, the little traitor came along for the fun.”

 

Eric turned slowly, only to be faced with the sight of no less than seven witches of varying ages and genders, all armed with silver chains and draining vials, as well as strange daggers similar to the one currently sitting in Eric’s kitchen.

 

“Fuck,” Eric breathed.

 

Then all hell broke loose.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an unexpected turn of events, a rescue, and a kiss.

Two vampires, one semi-trained witch, and a tied-up shapeshifter against seven well-armed witches jacked up on vampire blood were not odds that should be taken to Vegas. Even if one vampire was a thousand years old, the other was utterly ruthless, and the witch had accidentally brought a photograph to life. (In this case, the shapeshifter, being prevented from shapeshifting, was absolutely useless.)

 

“Oh, _hell_ no,” muttered Pam, right before a silver chain flew through the air and wound itself around her arms.

 

Eric roared and lashed out, easily breaking the ribs of one male witch who had gotten too close. Morgan yelled something in a foreign language that caused a large chunk of ceiling to collapse.

 

“Eric! Behind you!” Sam yelled. Automatically, Eric ducked and rolled, which allowed the silver chain to whiz harmlessly through the air. Sam, still tied to the chair, attempted to scoot away from the brawl, but was stopped by a cold, steel knife-point to his throat.

 

“Mr. Northman!” Olivia Wilkinson called out over the noise. Everyone froze, except for Pam, who was still valiantly attempting to escape the silver chains.

 

“Let him go, witch,” Eric ordered, eyes wide.

 

“Oh, I've no intention of harming our new pet,” the coven leader purred, stroking the top of Sam's head. Sam gulped, and the knife pressed into his throat just enough to release a single drop of blood.

 

“What do you want?” Eric asked quietly, lowering his hands.

 

Olivia made a gesture, and Eric found himself being bound in silver. Thankfully, Eric's thick leather coat stopped the metal from burning his skin, but he was instantly weakened.

 

“Morgan, sit,” the head witch gestured. “Don't try anything funny.”

 

Morgan sat, allowing two of the witch's cohorts to tie her to her own chair, giving everyone a seething glare that she had apparently learned from Pam- who was glaring quite a bit herself, as well as spewing a litany of swears and insults in a multitude of languages.

 

“Bring them to the high chamber,” Olivia said haughtily.

 

“And what would that be? The mail room?” Pam sneered.

 

“ _Bring them,_ ” Olivia ordered, and Eric and Pam were dragged out, a final cry of _“why don't you take your tacky scarf and shove it up your skinny-_ ” echoing behind them. Smiling, the final witch shut and locked the door.

 

“Well, fuck,” Sam sighed.

 

“I second the motion,” Morgan replied.

 

Sam violently struggled with his bonds, but even his supernatural strength proved useless.

 

“Can you get us out of here?” he asked the witch sitting next to him.

 

“I could get us out of these ropes, and probably out of this room, but if we bust all up in their business, Olivia is liable to just stake Eric and Pam. She's sort of a bitch.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

“What you need is a plan!” a third voice said cheerfully.

 

Slowly and in unison, Sam and Morgan's heads turned towards the desk, where Godric was standing inside someone else's photo. But he wasn't alone.

 

“I'm starting to see what my actual self sees in you,” Eric mused, looking Sam over thoroughly.

 

“Focus, Eric,” Godric chided.

 

“Do you...have an idea?” Sam asked, ignoring the disturbing idea of a _photo_ staring at _him._

 

“There's a big photograph in the room that the coven is in,” Godric explained. “It's a nature shot with wolves in it. Eric and I are going to go in and rile them up. The witches will be shocked enough so that you two can get in there and save Eric!”

 

“And Pam,” photo-Eric and Morgan chorused together.

 

“Right, and Pam,” Godric nodded.

 

“Morgan, perhaps you can untie us now?”

 

She nodded. “ _Solvo, solvere, solvi,_ ” she muttered, and the ropes slackened enough for Sam to wiggle out of them. He was up and tugging at the door handle before Morgan had a chance to blink.

 

“Let me,” she said, pushing him out of the way. _“Dissero!”_

 

The door clicked open.

 

“Wait until you hear a commotion, then enter,” Godric said, before dragging Eric out of the side of the frame.

 

“This definitely takes the cake for the weirdest week of my life,” Sam sighed as he padded quietly down the hall.

 

“Really? It's up there for me, but not at the top of my list,” Morgan chirped quietly.

 

Sam decided not to question that. Instead, he started talking off his clothing.

 

“What the _fuck?!_ ” Morgan yelped quietly. “Put that _away!”_

 

“I can't,” Sam explained. “Shapeshifter, remember?”

 

“Oh. Ah, right,” Morgan blinked. “So. What are you going to turn into?”

 

“Something big, and strong,” Sam said. “Something that will scare them, and can effectively beat the shit out of them...”

 

“How about a moose?” Morgan suggested.

 

“A moose?” Sam whispered. _“....seriously?”_

 

“Hell yeah,” Morgan grinned.

 

Sam stared at her.

 

“Oh shit, we're here!” Morgan whispered as they came to a halt outside a door. Sam pressed his ear to the wood and was able to hear some sort of chanting, as well as a slight hissing sound he didn't want to think about.

 

“Eric and Godric should be there any minute,” Morgan whispered. As if on cue, Sam heard howling from inside.

 

“ _Silence, mortals!_ ” he recognized the small yet booming voice as Eric's. _“We are the gods who come!”_

 

 _Not again,_ Sam thought to himself before Morgan nodded and kicked in the door. Once Sam was inside the large room that had apparently been a cafeteria, he instantly shifted into a moose, much to the frozen shock of the coven of witches, who stood around the makeshift altar with their jaws hanging open, still clutching draining vials. Eric and Pam, tied to the altar, looked up- well, as much as they could, seeing as they were tied down with silver.

 

“ _Let them go, tacky-ass bitch!_ ” Morgan shrieked.

 

Sam charged.

 

A lot of things happened at once.

 

Sam, with a sweeping swing of his _antlers,_ cleared the area around the altar, before charging towards Olivia Wilkinson. While he was busy doing that, Morgan was unwinding the chains from around Eric and Pam, while at the same time zapping anyone who got too close.

 

Then, two pale blonde flashes whizzed by him. Evidently, Morgan had been successful in her endeavor to free the vampires, and the vampires were _angry._ Several splatters of blood came up at various points around the room, and after thirty seconds, there was no more shrieking.

 

Sam allowed himself to drop back into his human form before looking around the room. The photograph of the wolves was on the wall, although it was still and unmoving- Godric and Eric had probably not waited around to see what would happen if a moose crashed into it antlers-first.

 

Eric-who-wasn't-a-photograph was standing, looking at the destruction like it was a large pile of squashed bugs, rather than squashed witches. He had blood all over him and his hair was a mess and there were burns around his wrists and _hoo damn,_ Sam needed to find some pants _now_.

 

Fortunately, a happy side benefit of having a witch as a friend was instant clothing, and a pair of jeans materialized around Sam's legs, although Morgan failed to give him a shirt.

 

“The mark is gone,” Eric said hoarsely.

 

Sam looked to his shoulder. Nothing but skin.

 

“I guess....the curse is broken?” he said hopefully.

 

Eric grinned.

 

Sam decided that the world could stop for just a moment, so he lunged forward, grabbed Eric by the neck, and- finally, finally, _finally_ \- kissed him. And it was nice, it was very nice, if a bit bloody, although Sam had hunted enough in animal form to know that blood wasn't so bad, and it was even a turn-on sometimes, especially when combined with whatever the _hell_ Eric did with his tongue, and _wow_. The curse was _definitely_ broken.

 

“Gentlemen?” Pam coughed. “Far be it from me to interrupt your touching reunion, but we have a little problem here.” She gestured to the mess that was formerly a coven. “I don’t think we killed all of them.”

 

“So get the clean-up and glamour crew in here,” Eric ordered. Pam sighed, rolled her eyes, and used her phone to speed-dial someone. There were several barked orders, half as many expletives, and some serious bribery before Pam was able to hang up the phone and nod.

 

“Everything will be taken care of. Also, we’re supposed to make an appearance at Fangtasia tomorrow night. It’s the three-year anniversary of vampires coming out of the coffin…or that’s the excuse they’re using to party,” Pam informed him.

 

“A party?” Eric grinned. “I’ve always been partial to parties myself. What about you, Sam?”

 

“I think Merlotte’s can manage another night without me,” Sam smiled back.

 

“Can we go home now?” Morgan beseeched. “I have to bleach this shirt before the bloodstains set in.”

 

“Of course,” Eric said generously, looping an arm around Sam possessively. “We will go right now.”

 

“Eric, is your hand in my _back pocket?_ ” Sam hissed as they walked through the slightly destroyed building and out the door.

 

“In a word, yes,” Eric said. Then he winked.

 

Sam decided he didn’t mind.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a drunken celebration, a farewell, the destruction of property, and go-go dancing.

Once more, an overly cheerful witch walked into Fangtasia on a Friday night, but this time she was accompanied by a just-cheerful-enough shapeshifter.

 

“Your man’s over there,” Morgan pointed across the club. Sam looked, and his jaw promptly dropped as he beheld Eric, sprawled on his throne with his legs splayed in a rather lewd fashion. Everyone within a twenty-foot radius of him appeared to be panting, except for Pam, and Sam suspected that it was only because she didn’t actually _breathe_.

 

“Well, I’m off to get smashed!” Morgan chirped, before prancing off and leaving Sam alone and awkward and dressed in plaid in the middle of a leather-and-spikes vampire bar.

 

Eric looked up, grinned salaciously, and made a beckoning motion with his fingers that had Sam walking across the room in a nearly-trancelike state. _Ridiculous,_ he thought. Then he realized that everyone in that same twenty-foot radius was staring at him like he was _theirs_ , and a possessive growl rose in Sam’s throat before he could stop it.

 

The club was loud and noisy, so none of the humans heard, although a few vampires looked at him oddly. And, of course, Eric locked eyes with him across the room. He made a beckoning sign with his fingers and Sam felt himself striding across the room towards him- which was rather embarrassing, really, as he _wasn’t_ a dog that could just be called whenever.

 

“You stand out quite a bit,” Eric grinned lazily.

 

“You’re rather conspicuous yourself,” Sam replied.

 

The two stared at each other for one very long minute before Eric waved over Pam, without breaking eye contact with Sam. “Pam, please handle all business in the bar. And make sure that our witch friend doesn’t…get out of hand.”

 

“Will do, boss,” Pam replied with a glance to where Morgan was throwing down Jell-O shots at the bar.

 

“Now, Sam,” Eric said in all seriousness. “We have some very important business to discuss in my office.”

 

Sam blinked.

 

 _“Now.”_

 

The tall vampire began to stride out of the main room of Fangtasia, the sea of fangbangers and vampires parting instantly for him- and Sam, who managed to keep up, although he needed to take two steps for every one of Eric’s. Eric swung open his office door with unnecessary flourish and Sam had just enough time to brace himself against the door before Eric pounced.

 

“ _Mmrph!_ ” was the last sound Sam was able to make before Eric’s lips locked securely over his and he became unable to think coherently, much less _speak_. Sam tightened his grip on Eric’s hips, and Eric buried his hands in Sam’s shaggy hair and _pulled._ Sam let out a groan that, later on, he would deny ever making.

 

“Like it rough, do you?” Eric chuckled.

 

“I’m not going to break,” Sam gasped, grinding against the vampire, whose fangs promptly unsheathed. Eric bent to Sam’s neck, licking languorously along his pulse point.

 

“ _Fuck,_ Eric!” Sam gasped as cool, undead hands worked their way under his shirt. “I thought biting wasn’t allowed on premises!”

 

“My premises, my rules,” Eric said in a truly animalistic growl.

 

“If you bite me, I’ll bite you,” Sam smirked.

 

“Deal,” Eric purred, and bit down. White-hot fireworks exploded behind Sam’s eyeballs, and he blanked out completely for the next half hour, which later, he would also deny, because it was almost as embarrassing as the first time he’d gotten drunk.

 

When Sam came back to himself, both he and Eric were buck-naked and lying in the remnants of Eric’s desk. In addition, the wall appeared to be dented and the file cabinet was missing a drawer.

 

“Sorry about that,” Eric said lazily. “I got a little bit over-excited.”

 

“It was a great show, anyhow,” a tiny voice piped up.

 

 _“Holy shit!_ ” Sam yelped, jackknifing up from the desk and reaching wildly about for pants. “Who- what-”

 

“Calm yourself,” Eric commanded. He turned his attention to the wall, where a photograph of Fangtasia on its opening night hung. “Hello, Godric, and- oh.”

 

Godric stood there, hand clasped with a small, flat version of Eric.

 

“I see why I’m so successful,” photo-Eric drawled, blatantly staring at the full-sized nude version of him.

 

“I’ve been on this earth for over a thousand years, and this is probably the weirdest shit I’ve ever encountered,” Eric said in a daze.

 

“Really?” Godric commented. “What about the time when-”

 

“Weirder than that.”

 

“Or the episode with the-”

 

“Stranger.”

 

“How about the incident where-”

 

“Okay, that incident _might_ give this a run for its money, but…yeah, this is odder,” Eric said with a note of finality.

 

“Hello, Sam,” Godric waved to the shapeshifter who was trying to get dressed in the rubble that used to be Eric’s desk.

 

“Hey, Godric,” Sam greeted hoarsely.

 

“Anyway, Eric, we just came by to tell you that we’re off,” Godric smiled. “Now that I’ve accomplished my purpose-”

 

 _“No!_ ” Eric yelped. “You can’t go _now_ \- I mean, where would you even-”

 

“Paris,” Godric said, and Eric stopped in confusion.

 

“Paris?”

 

“The Louvre,” Godric explained. “Then to the Smithsonian, and the Victoria and Albert Museum…and from there, who knows?”

 

“There are paintings and photos everywhere,” Godric’s photographic companion said, circling his arms around Godric’s waist and nuzzling. “I figure it’ll make for some fun exploring.”

 

Eric grinned. “Well, make sure to come back and visit.”

 

“Oh, we will,” Godric grinned. Then, softly- “Good-bye, my child.”

 

“Good-bye, Godric,” Eric replied, before his maker slipped out of the edge of the frame.

 

Sam waited a minute before speaking.

 

“What now?”

 

Eric looked down unabashedly at his still-nude self. “Well, if you would be so kind as to hand me my pants, we shall rejoin our club and party some more.”

 

Sam reluctantly handed Eric his trousers- he did look _so_ nice without them- and followed the vampire out the door into Fangtasia, which had gotten severely drunker and rowdier in the time that Eric and Sam had been…occupied.

 

“Pam!” Eric called out, and Pam turned to him from her vantage point on Eric’s throne.

 

“Hello, Eric, Sam,” Pam grinned, and damned if there wasn’t a razorblade edge to it. “How was your…business meeting?”

 

“Extremely mutually beneficial,” Eric replied nonchalantly. Sam choked a little on thin air.

 

“Where’s Morgan gone off to?” he asked, by way of changing the subject.

 

Pam pointed to one of the dancers’ pedestals. Morgan had apparently traded her shirt for some sort of Saran-Wrap contraption, kicked the dancer off, and was now pulling moves that Eric had previously thought mortals were incapable of.

 

“That looks like fun,” he commented lightly, and before Sam could blink, Eric was up on the pedestal, stripping off his shirt in a manner that was probably illegal in several states.

 

“Here,” Pam smiled, handing Sam a generous amount of Scotch. He knocked it back and grinned, relaxing and enjoying the view.

 

“She has quite the knack for situating herself in people’s lives, hasn’t she?” Sam mused.

 

“Well, that’s how this whole mess started,” Pam replied. “A witch walked into our bar.”

 

“Mine too,” Sam replied.

 

He grinned. Life would be a lot more interesting if witches walked into bars more often.


End file.
